


home-coming queen

by Nixariel



Series: certain dark things [3]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, my girl's gonna hurt before she gets better, post-Ninja Tribunal arc AU, takes place directly after previous installment, the angst train is still going
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29078280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nixariel/pseuds/Nixariel
Summary: The Foot is restless; a challenger rises. Karai must decide on a path. In the end, who is Oroku Karai?
Series: certain dark things [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/644540
Kudos: 1





	home-coming queen

Karai woke, and was surprised. The _kunoichi_ didn't remember falling asleep. Yet here she lay, curled at the foot of her bathroom door, head tucked against her knees after enduring the year's longest night. She straightened her neck and winced at its protest. The rest of her body made similar complaints as Karai forced it to unfold.

Standing, the face in the mirror caught her eye. It looked thin, even to herself. And worn. Jawline sharper, cheekbones more pronounced, what little roundness she'd ever possessed melted away as if by some long illness.

Yet the gaze meeting hers were bright and green and clear.

Sudden hunger, a second surprise, distracted Karai as the smell of grilling fish wafted in. The _kunoichi_ followed it—only to pull up short just past the threshold of her room. Her stomach growled despite herself.

"I told you to go," said Karai, voice even and cold.

Standing at the fully-occupied stove, in the same _genin_ -black _shozoku_ he'd worn last night, the captain of her Elite glanced at her. "You did, Oroku _-sama_ ," he agreed.

Her eyes narrowed in a dangerous glare–

–only to have it fly completely over the man's head as he turned to prod the fish crisping in its skillet. Satisfied it was done, Jyu-whatever-his-name turned off the burners and transferred the pots and pans to an array of hot pads waiting on the counter. A tray sat nearby, loaded with empty dishes, and within moments he had a traditional Japanese breakfast laid out.

"I can take this to the table for you," he offered. "Where do you normally sit?"

Karai stared at the food, then at him. Her stomach growled again. She ignored it. "What do you think you are doing?" demanded the _kunoichi_.

"Making breakfast, Oroku _-sama_."

"I asked for no such thing."

He watched her as steadily as he'd said, _you are not fine_. "I know."

She blinked. For lack of other direction, the _ichiro_ picked up the tray and set it on the table in front of the chair closest to her. "The salmon will be best while hot," he noted, and returned to the kitchen counter. Carefully he started scraping leftover rice into a small glass container.

Without conscious intent, Karai found herself drifting over to the chair. A pair of chopsticks lay at the bottom of the tray. She tried a sliver of the perfectly seared fish and felt her belly pinch with emptiness. The _kunoichi_ 's next bite was more generous.

Despite her appetite's abrupt resurgence, she could still only finish half the tray. Karai stood—and hesitated, glancing over at the man who was now washing up. He nodded at the table. "If you leave it there, Oroku _-sama_ , I can add it to the other leftovers."

Silently she complied. Looking at the slowly filling dishrack Karai said, somewhat stiltedly, "It—was very good."

 _Thank you_ , she meant, but the words wouldn't come and the _kunoichi_ fled back to the ensuite to shower instead. When she opened her bedroom door twenty minutes later he was gone, the cookware drying, and a blocky drawstring bag sat on her table. Karai read the note sitting on top. In a neat angular hand he'd written: _for lunch_.

She didn't know whether to be angry or warily obliged. The sheer _arrogance_ of it—brazenly commandeering her _kitchen!_ —but he hadn't behaved arrogantly at all. Instead he'd been quiet, and deferential, and unresisting to her wrath. And the meal had tasted like home.

Karai took the bag.

-/-

She intended to work late that evening as penance for leaving early the day before. Unfortunately a pounding headache started before noon, growing worse the longer she stared at a screen. By two o'clock Karai gave up hope of making any significant progress that day but forced herself to at least triage the various organizational fires awaiting her attention. Even that took long enough that the _kunoichi_ was dragging herself back to her suite well after sunset. Absently she noticed the dishes in the rack made a different shape than they had that morning. Upon opening her fridge to put away the lunch she'd almost managed to finish, Karai found a covered plate.

 _Yakitori_ this time, with stir-fried rice and pickled carrots.

The throbbing in her head erased any hunger she might have found but the vegetables were crisp and pleasantly sour. She nibbled on them while putting on the kettle for tea. Once the water was hot and her cup steeping, the _kunoichi_ replaced the plate in the fridge.

Now that her memories of exactly how the Utroms captured Ch'rell were clear, Karai knew she had no right to take his place. It was her duty to step down as clan head, as the Shredder—and submit herself to the laws of the Foot.

Karai shivered. She would not be the first lieutenant to face consequences for betrayal in the clan's thousand-year history, but they were few and for good reason. Her father's punishments tended to be proportional to the crime.

Yet in some ways her situation was entirely without precedent. Up until eighteen months ago, the Foot had never known a world without their founding master. Even when betrayed, even if survival seemed impossible, the Shredder always returned to deal with the upstart himself and remind the clan that his rule was both eternal and absolute. The _kunoichi_ knew her own leadership could never measure up against Ch'rell's centuries of experience but at least she was a unifying voice for others to follow. Losing that guidance even briefly risked triggering another upheaval like the one that brought her to New York three years prior.

She needed a successor. Wu-yin and Ji were the obvious choices as her longstanding aides but that same association would stain them in the eyes of the clan. Karai had to find another capable of taking—and holding—command. Someone strong, someone respected, someone unquestionably loyal to the Foot's first master—and, perhaps, still willing to allow Karai the traditional alternative to a trial.

The _kunoichi_ did not wish to find herself envying Dr. Stockman's fate.

Karai meant to draw up a list of candidates but the relentless ache hammering at her skull left her unable to focus on anything other than stumbling to her room, cleaning her teeth, and falling into bed. The cup she left on her bedside table to cool.

Sleep took her like a wave. When she woke the next morning, the smell of rice and cooked fish greeted Karai again.

-/-

What had been presumptuous and disconcerting slowly turned into routine as the tower remained quiet and the world moved towards the official new year. The Elite captain showed up every morning to cook, turn the extra into a lunch, and leave the kitchen clean in his wake. Sometimes he hummed a little as he chopped or stirred or washed. Karai ate in silence before returning to her room to bathe and dress.

She never said thank you. He never seemed to expect her to.

Another meal waited every evening. If Karai walked through her door before six, the plate was warm and on her counter. After six-thirty it was wrapped and in her fridge. The _kunoichi_ had yet to catch him moving it. Her headache returned on and off, especially at the end of the day, but rarely as bad as the first one. Every night Karai fell asleep long before she meant to and without much progress on whom to entrust the weight of her father's legacy.

On the sixth day her headache flared mid-afternoon and turned the office's fluorescents into knives. She looked up, thinking to get a glass of water, and saw–

–the _ichiro_.

Standing in that _same_ corner, for who knows how long, silent as fog and—peeling an orange?

It was a measure of their strange détente that Karai did not jump like the first time he pulled this trick. She still wanted to throw something at the Elite; she wanted to _shout_ at him. How DARE he intrude? What right did he have? What did he _want from her?!_

Jyu divided the citrus in half, pulling away the pith. Then he divided it again. "Your head?" he asked quietly, walking over to place the quarters on her desk. "You were squinting."

" _What_ do you _want_ ," hissed Karai.

The man paused. Slowly his hand lifted, leaving the cleaned fruit behind. "It's not like that, Oroku _-sama_ ," he replied. "I don't want anything."

"Do not _LIE_ to me."

Dark eyes met hers, as gratingly calm as they had been since the night she slipped in the roof-garden. " _Okashira._ You asked for my fealty once. Are you so surprised to have it?"

She blinked. _Okashira?_

The _ichiro_ bowed. "Please try the orange, Oroku- _sama_. I will go make supper." He slipped through the door before she could tell him to stop. Karai glared at where he'd disappeared—then winced, feeling the strain worsen her headache.

 _Okashira_. That was an old, old title, not used by the Foot since the end of the Tokugawa shogunate. It simply meant 'leader'. In practice, however, it was reserved for battle commanders in those days when such officers fought side by side with the ninja under their charge. Her father preferred _shisho_ —'master'—anyway. Absently Karai picked up a section of orange to pull off a smaller piece. She popped it in her mouth and bit, bright sweetness flooding her tongue. The throbbing behind her eyes receded a little.

_Damn him._

_And_ he'd answered a question with a question.

_Damn him._

-/-

The _ichiro_ was not the only one able to play the silent-shadow game. Karai resolved to learn as much about her newest irritant as he thought he knew about her. She started by pulling up his service record before she left her office.

 _Sato Jyutaro, age thirty-two. Designation: Foot Clan, combatant_. _Status: active._

An only child, learned Karai. Descended from one of the Foot's oldest family lines and joined _genin_ training at sixteen—the earliest any were allowed. Took the service exam as soon as he turned eighteen, passed with flying colours, then rose through the ranks with impressive speed. Challenged the third-seat of the Elite when he was twenty-five and won, earning the then- _saburo_ 's place. Made first-seat at twenty-seven after the former _ichiro_ 's death in service.

Jyutaro's grandmother, the _kunoichi_ noted, had also been an Elite.

Karai's eyes narrowed. Only the _ichiro_ could not be challenged for their rank amongst the Shredder's personal assassin-bodyguards. Her father chose each one himself and selected for loyalty as much as skill-at-arms. She vaguely recalled the last such appointment now, silent red-cloaked figures bowing to one of their own after their master announced his decision. That had been two years before Ch'rell delegated the clan's main branch to her and transferred his full attention to the Utroms' trail in America.

Lasting almost six years as Elite captain was a very respectable term. The position turned over about as often as that of Ch'rell's second-in-command—if for very different reasons. Being outside the formal hierarchy of the Foot served to insulate his bodyguards from the worst of her father's dislike for failure. Yet in all that time, Karai could not remember exchanging a single word with the man before she arrived in New York to settle its unrest.

She closed the file. It might contain Jyutaro's life down to his allergies ( _ragweed and penicillin_ ) but it couldn't tell the _kunoichi_ what she really wanted to know. It couldn't tell her why he was being so—her mouth pulled tight in a scowl— _kind_.

-/-

With so much of the building on holiday leave, even the cleaning staff only came in once a week—a visit conveniently not due until tomorrow. Nor was anyone in Karai's block of offices scheduled to return before Monday. So when the _kunoichi_ listened behind her bedroom door the next morning for the sound of Jyutaro's post-breakfast exit, she knew no one would mark her absence that day.

The front door clicked. Swiftly Karai darted into the bathroom to turn off the empty shower, then reversed course to follow the _ichiro_ before he could get too far ahead. Swordless, dressed in a spare _shozoku_ she'd borrowed from one of the training _dojo_ s yesterday, she crept down the hall.

She should have felt ridiculous, stalking one of her own Elite. But instead Karai felt… free. Released. Like throwing off formal wear after some too-long gala and finally taking her first deep breath of the night. How many weeks— _months_ —had it been since she went on a mission herself? Or even just pulled a cursory run through New York after dark?

At the end of the hallway Jyutaro turned, bypassing the elevator. Karai hung back at the corner. She knew the only exit after the elevator on this side was the emergency stairwell. Pausing a beat so as not to get too close, the _kunoichi_ approached the door and carefully pressed it open. Inside she listened for whether the _ichiro_ had gone up, where only the grand _dojo_ , the roof garden, or the helipad waited, or down to the rest of the building.

The faintest of scuffs led her higher.

Taking pains to make no such sound herself, Karai ghosted up the stairs until she reached the final landing. She listened at that door too, hearing nothing from the other side, and pulled it open just wide enough to slink through.

Little gods, how she had _missed_ this.

There was no sign of Jyutaro on the other side. Staying near the wall, the _kunoichi_ kept her ears pricked as she padded along.

 _Dojo. Garden. Helipad._ And if she had to guess where she would find one captain of the Elite…

A faint _thwack thwack-wack_ could be heard through the _shoji_ forming the long side of the grand _dojo_. Karai felt the corner of her mouth twitch upwards. She forced it back to neutral, harshly summoning the memory of her father's fury at her defiance, exosuit looming over her, _tekko-kagi_ raised to strike.

This was no game. Revealing her culpability in Ch'rell's death would cause significant turmoil even with a successor in place. Karai could not afford a rogue Elite adding to the chaos. She needed information, parameters, a way to define this uncertain element and thereby neutralize it as a threat, all of which started with getting into the _dojo_ unnoticed.

A task the room's design made deliberately difficult.

Even at midday the grand _dojo_ remained darker than the hallways outside. Opening the screens therefore allowed an influx of light, altering the room's shadows even if one's back was turned. The main elevator doors were too large to open discreetly. But—the _kunoichi_ 's eyes narrowed—there was the secondary control centre hidden behind the dais at the other end of the great hall. Meant as a fallback position, connected by its own elevator to the main communication hub, and masked on this end by a wall hanging. Completely inaccessible save from the hub several floors below or this very _dojo_ —if, that is, one was used to raising walls instead of getting past them.

All schematics of the building had to cross the CEO's desk during the reconstruction. Partly to stay informed, partly to allow for certain delicate suggestions regarding security. No structure could ever be perfectly impenetrable but Karai made sure her tower was among the closest.

However, that was to an outsider. For someone who knew Oroku Tower literally inside and out—as she did—little things like 'doors' and 'locks' and 'secure access points' were still more options than obstacles. Not quite fifteen minutes later the _kunoichi_ was standing in the secret control room and reprogramming the outer door to open without lifting the concealing hanging. Banner undisturbed, Karai left barely a ripple as she slipped out one side and into the shadows of the grand _dojo_.

Her caution proved needless. The _ichiro_ had his back to the dais, practicing unarmed against a spring-loaded wooden dummy pulled into the middle of the hall.

Karai frowned. The same dummy she'd had brought up here so that she could train alone and in peace, when she had the time. Or the energy.

She leapt to catch at one of the overhead beams, silently swinging herself into the rafters. It should have been easy with no heavy magitech pack attached and no sword-turned-snake chasing after her but Karai found herself clutching at the joist as the world briefly lurched.

Her light-headedness only lasted a moment but it shook the _kunoichi_. She'd never fainted in her life, not even homeless and hungry on the streets of Tokyo. Nor had Karai ever experienced headaches as bad, or as frequent, as in the last week. Perhaps she should have let Jyutaro call the doctor that night.

But that was past and she had a mission to fulfill. Stealing closer, Karai positioned herself behind a convenient column. She watched the Elite steadily work his way through a series of counters and strikes, never letting the dummy land a blow. He finished with a block-one-two combination that jerked the swinging sandbag to a halt, indicating a direct hit to what would have been a critical point on a human being. Then Jyutaro stepped back, seemingly done with the dummy, and walked over to the near wall—out of Karai's line of sight.

She hastily switched sides on the post, not wanting to lose track of her target. But he'd only gone to a extra-long duffel bag sitting nearby. The _kunoichi_ heard the zipper go but couldn't make out what he was rummaging for inside. When he turned, Karai saw in his hand—a short staff.

 _Two_ of them.

Jyutaro looked directly at her and said, "Oroku- _sama_ , would you care for a spar?"

Karai froze. The _ichiro_ 's eyes were dark, not red, meaning that the implants all Elite received to enhance low-light vision weren't active. He couldn't possibly see her—or know who she was—against the gloom of the grand _dojo_ 's ceiling. Surely the man was guessing.

Underarm, he tossed one of the _hanbo_ straight up to her. The _kunoichi_ caught it on reflex.

_DAMN him. To know I was here–_

"The scuff on the stairs was deliberate, I take it?" asked Karai coolly. Inside she fumed at how easily she'd been duped. Somehow—somehow this man had _baited_ her into following him.

If he smiled, even a little, she'd come down swinging for his HEAD.

He did not smile. Jyutaro nodded, politely, and added, "Your keycard did not register at the main elevator this morning."

"You _tagged_ my _card_?" Karai wasn't sure which was bolder, tracking her movements or admitting to doing so.

He nodded again, unrepentant. "You are mistress of the Foot. Your safety is my responsibility."

Her lip curled in a snarl. " _I_ keep myself safe."

"Then I am happy to serve as a contingency, Oroku- _sama_."

Her scowl darkened. Throwing her own style—of every plan having a back-up, and a back-up of a back-up if possible—in her face was hardly endearing the man to her. Even more so because he was _right_. Above all others, it was the _ichiro_ 's task to protect the clan head. So her father had ordained for a thousand years. Karai jumped down instead, challenging, "Why not ask your brothers-in-arms?"

"They are busy today." He paused. "Is that a no then, Oroku- _sama_?"

"Oh no," replied the _kunoichi_ silkily. "I am quite happy to spar with you, Jyutaro- _san_." She'd beaten this _ichiro_ once before, as he'd been so kind as to remind her with his talk of fealty and ' _okashira_ '. Karai was more than willing to do it again.

She stalked over to the depressed square of mats laid precisely for this purpose and raised the _hanbo_ in guard like a sword. Jyutaro followed, mirroring her stance ten feet away. Karai breathed deep, feeling the staff's grain against her palms, the flooring's slight springiness, her weight settling into the balls of her feet.

This would be a short fight.

They circled for a few moments, taking the opportunity to size each other up and see who would make the first move. The _kunoichi_ did not make him wait long. Going high, she leapt for an overhead strike, one her opponent easily blocked.

What he did not expect was the double kick landing heels-first in his ribs, knocking him back as much as launching Karai away in a handspring to her feet. Jyutaro rubbed his chest, looking at the _kunoichi_ with a touch more respect in his eyes.

Or so it seemed to her.

Then it was the _ichiro_ 's turn to rush in, a series of quick thrusts that kept Karai moving, trying to crowd her into a corner. Yet she would not be trapped so easily and feinted right, sliding left with a slashing blow that would have laid open his side with a real sword–

–if it had connected. Only he wasn't there, hadn't fallen for the decoy, had spun with her to catch her sword and launch a precise kick at the back of her knee that sent her tumbling across the mats. A fall Karai swiftly controlled, using it to put distance between them. But Jyutaro didn't let up, chasing after to keep her on the defensive.

He _was_ good, as expected of an Elite. Still Karai knew she had beaten him before, gathered herself for a flip straight up and over his shoulders to surprise him from behind–

–only to falter as the room suddenly swam and a hollow roaring filled her ears.

Distantly the _kunoichi_ felt herself sway. Sturdy hands caught her elbows, guiding her down to the floor.

Hands. Plural. Meaning Jyutaro must have dropped his weapon. While Karai—still held hers.

The _ichiro_ 's guard was down. She could strike now, sweep his feet from under him or simply drive the butt straight into his solar plexus. He wouldn't expect it. Who would, when she couldn't even hear him over the white noise blanketing her senses? Her opponent was open, vulnerable— _helpless_.

No. Not helpless. Helpless was lying on a metal floor, unconscious and broken, as her father prepared to slash every one of their throats.

Her gut twisted and Karai nearly vomited. The hands vanished, returning shortly to steady her as an arm around her back while the other held a bottle to her mouth. She pulled at the spout out of instinct, drawing up a wonderfully cold swallow of water. The ringing in her ears dimmed a little.

"Small sips," she could hear him saying now. "Not too fast." Obediently Karai breathed between mouthfuls, feeling her vision clear and the world slowly stop spinning in that nauseating fashion.

Finally the _kunoichi_ was able to raise her head from where she knelt half-slumped against Jyutaro's side. "Tell anyone about this," she threatened tiredly, "and I'll kill you."

His shoulders lifted with a slow inhale. Mildly the Elite said, "I've been making your meals for the last week. If I wanted to harm you, don't you think I would have poisoned one of them by now?"

"It could be slow-acting. Or cumulative." Even to her own ears Karai sounded more sulky than acerbic.

"Then why eat them?"

She had no answer for that. The _kunoichi_ sighed. "What do you _want_ from me, Sato Jyutaro?"

His voice never wavered. "To help you, Oroku _-sama_ , in whatever way I can."

"I do not believe you," she retorted.

"I know." After a moment, he added, "Do you feel up to standing? I have more oranges in my bag."

Karai shrugged off his arm, pushing herself to her feet with only the slightest wobble. "I do not require your assistance, Jyutaro- _san_ ," was her curt reply. "In this or anything."

For the first time Jyutaro smiled, lopsided and rueful. "I know," he agreed again, getting to his feet as well. "I've seen you managing clan and company for the last three years. You've made yourself into a person who requires very little." He paused, as if debating whether or not to finish there. "That doesn't mean you couldn't use a hell of a lot more."

She stared at him, unsettled even though her face displayed only haughty displeasure. "I do not require your opinions either," Karai finally said. She turned on her heel.

"Oroku- _sama_?"

Her thinning patience vanished. " _What_."

"You kick like a mule. Rematch tomorrow?"

The _kunoichi_ bit back the urge to demand that rematch now. "Very well," she snapped. "Here. Same time." She'd beat the truth out of him if that's what it took.

"Thank you, Oroku- _sama_."

Karai swept away before she could give into the urge to say something, anything, just to have the last word.

-/-

In a darker part of New York, two men met under the dubious shelter of a half-gutted building. The roof was whole, as were most of the ground-level walls, but the ring of classrooms forming a second floor high overhead was pockmarked with holes. Even as they stood, a passing truck shook a fine rain of dust from the upper storey.

"Is this really necessary?" asked one of them. He wore the standard training _shozoku_ but over a maroon-trimmed grey _nagagi_ , tied by an _obi_ with four bright stripes on each end. His hair, also dark red, was shaved into a queue. A faded purple tattoo was just visible over his collar.

The other was completely hidden in shadow. "You came to me, remember?" he said. "You were the one concerned that the new Shredder wasn't fit to lead."

"You agreed."

"Yeah. I did. And if she finds out, at best I'll be broken down to _genin_ and sent to the ass-end of nowhere for the rest of my life. At worst she'll kill me herself. Exactly how much use will I be to you then?"

The first man sighed. "Fine. Report."

"She sits in her office and signs forms all day, just like she's been doing for months now. The only battle our mistress fights is with her printer. But… the _ichiro_ 's been going to her quarters every day for the last week or so."

"Oh?"

"Not like _that_ ," said the second man scornfully. "He comes in every morning with a bag and leaves a hour later without it. Then he does the same thing again in the afternoon. I think—I think they're _groceries_."

"Interesting." The redhead's eyes flickered back and forth as he mused over the new information. "Jyutaro always did favour the girl. He declined alerting our master to her unsuitability on more than one occasion."

"Jyutaro- _san_ ," quietly corrected the other.

The redhead rolled his eyes. "The man's not even here."

"No. Nor are you master of the Foot yet, Khan. You never even made it into the Elite. So maybe you should work a little harder on getting the _ichiro_ to favour _you_ if you want to keep power after taking Oroku- _hime_ down." The second man slipped further into darkness until all sense of his presence disappeared.

Once sure he was alone, the first man let his mouth twist in a sneer. "Fool," said Khan darkly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> […] Remember, in the beginning they agreed  
> To accept a sky that answered nothing,  
> They agreed to lower their eyes, to accept  
> The gifts the hard ground hoarded.  
> Even though they were only children  
> They agreed to draw no more breath  
> Than fire requires and yet never to burn.  
> — _The Gatekeeper’s Children_ , Philip Levine
> 
>  _shozoku_ : the classic ninja uniform as pioneered by Noh stagehands  
>  _yakitori_ : skewered and grilled chicken. Very tasty.  
>  _shoji_ : traditional Japanese sliding screen doors  
>  _tekko-kagi_ : the claws attached to the Shredder's gauntlets  
>  _nagagi_ : a _kimono_ -like upper garment  
>  _obi_ : Japanese sash/belt, comes in various widths depending on purpose  
>  _hime_ : princess
> 
> Ever watch those videos about socializing feral kittens? And technically Karai called it, the fight WAS short. XD I do love the idea of the Foot as an actual clan, not just a convenient source of faceless mooks, especially after being around for a thousand years. This series is not compliant with BTTS or Fast Forward but I liked the original concept art for Khan.


End file.
